Germany and the Lederhosen
by CaCoPhOnY Of ScReAmS
Summary: Oktoberfest? You wanted in. Ludwig in lederhosen? You. Wanted. IN. ReaderxGermany, ONESHOT


**Okay, this was written as a giftfic for my good friend, Bloodjester. It is a READER INSERT, and I do believe I owe you all an explanation:**

**You, dear reader, are ATLANTIS. Yes, ATLANTIS. If you want to get on the inside circle of this little fic, you'll need to go to Lunaescence Archives and read "In The Ocean Blue" by Seven. This is the original fic with You (Atlantis) in it.**

**But for those who just want to read this, here's the low-down:**

**-Atlantis is constantly soaking wet, as a result of her nation being sunk.**

**-She has a severe fear of anything SHAKING, because Atlantis apparently sunk after an earthquake.**

**-She can materialize out of anything water-like.**

**-Atlantis was rumored to have constantly invaded Athens, in Ancient Greece.**

**-Her skin, eyes, clothes, and hair are all blue. (Drowned.)**

**-xo-xo-xo-xo-xo-**

You grunted, shoving your way past an utterly wasted man as you tried futilely to follow the tall blond in front of you. Said utterly wasted man gave a shout of indignation as the shoulder you'd hit became sopping wet. Puh-lease, a bit of water on your clothes is nothing to bitch and moan about. You. Would. Know.

"Adlandis!" Germany barked, causing you to jump at the way the ground practically _SHOOK_ from his loud voice. You whipped your head in the direction his voice came from, not thinking of the fact that your hair was _soaking wet_, and the dramatic and completely unnecessary head-spin was likely to cause it to...

Shit.

Ludwig fixed you with a _LOOK_, which you returned with a _look_. Unfortunately, your meager _look_ withered under the disapproving glare of Germany's _LOOK_.

He wiped the salty water from his face.

You giggled nervously (and slightly insanely) "...Oops?"

"Und vhat do you dink you vere doink?" He quirked a brow, "I only allowed you to follow me because you maderializet from my bathdub, vhich eez somevhat creepy, und vhat I'd expecd from Italy..."

You gave him a strange cross between a pout and a glare, no doubt giving yourself the appearance of a zombie, what with your blue skin. (Hey, you've spent the last _how_ many centuries _at the bottom of the ocean!_? Appearances don't really rank high on your list of things to worry about.)

"But there's so many people!" You protested, gesturing wildly to the packed crowd around you, and succeeding in smacking several people in the face. "And half of 'em are totally off their heads!"

"Ja," Germany spoke slowly, as if you were a dumb child, "It's Oktoberfest, Adlandis. Dis happens every year. Ze only ding I can say eez to stay avay from ze _Bierleichen_."

Bier..Leichen?" You repeated, but Germany didn't bother elaborating, instead turning back to the task at hand; getting through the crowd. Germany had told you once that over six million people visited Oktoberfest each year, but still, did six million freaking people have to be in _that one particular spot_?!

Suddenly, something caught your eye, and you veered off to your right. Germany seeing this in his peripheral vision, the stern nation gave an aggrivated sigh, following you on your quest. Only when your goal came in view, did he feel the need to resist slapping himself in the forehead. Thankfully, after spending over a century with Italy, he is well trained in the art of _REFRAIN_.

Before the two of you was a small group of men and women wearing... interesting attire. Many seqences of white and green, the women in long skirts (A more modest version of some X-rated 'clothing' you'd seen on some of the barwenches) and the men in... oh god. The men in short-suspender things and knee-high stockings and...

You couldn't conceal your laughter, drawing the attention of many-a passerby as you doubled over, into the small puddle created by you standing there.

The look Germany was fixing you with only served to worsen your giggles.

"W-wh-what the hell are they _wearing_!?" You heaved out between breaths, water pooling around you in torrents due to your peals of laughter.

"Vhat? De lederhosen?" Germany asked, incredulous.

"L-lederhosen?!" You giggled, standing back up to your full height (still pathetically short compared to Ludwig, but eh.)

"Ja, eet's dratidional clozing in Germany und Austria, used for vorking."

"Still!" You exclaimed, not bothering to hide the absolutely dopey grin that crossed your face, "Who in their right mind would wear _LEATHER SHORTS_!?"

At this, Germany visibly stiffened, suddenly finding the ground to be much more interesting than your face. You paused, deadpan.

"No. Way." Your grin started out slowly, splitting your face from ear to ear, "Seriously?!"

"V-Vhat!?" Germany sputtered, face beet red, "Eet vas normal for German boys to vear lederhosen undil zey vere teenagers! Und zere vas noding wrong vid it!"

"Now this I've gotta see!" You exclaimed, "Germany, you've gotta show me!"

"I don'd dink zo."

"No, NO. You are going to show me, or I'll invade you like I invaded Athens! You hear me? Like. _ATHENS_!"

"..." Germany felt dread sweep over him.

---------------

The commute from Munich back to Germany's house in Berlin was fairly...calm. Well, minus the bit where you were constantly pestering Ludwig about his lederhosen. And all of the perturbed looks it garnered from the random pedestrians only served to encourage you. And embarrass Germany further.

You could've sworn that he'd grumbled something like, "Worse than _Gilbert_." Under his breath.

He even attempted to lock you out of his house. Unfortunately for him, this was in vain as you morphed out of his coffee maker, earning a disgruntled yelp as Germany backpedaled into the fridge, smacking the back of his head off of a particularly lethal-looking magnet, no doubt put there by Italy, who of course, wouldn't realize that a fridge magnet in the shape of a star (with a happy face, no less!), could be deadly.

"Lederhosen. Now, bitch." You demanded, crossing your arms.

Germany sighed. He knew when to give up.

You shrieked with glee as you followed the German up the stairs and to a small room, that no one knew existed. You waltzed in behind the grief-stricken Germany and tore open one of the many boxes inhabiting the room, whipping out an old pear of lederhosen.

"Holy shit!" You exclaimed, "I never knew you were into short shorts!"

"Zey're nod!" Germany protested, and you could _see_ the urge to bash his head against the wall arise in his blue eyes. "Zat's vhat zey vere like!"

"...Your history is so screwed." You observed, slipping the lederhosen on over your clothes. Oh, they fit, all right. Just. Barely.

A loud _THUD_ jolted you out of your reverie, and you looked up to see Ludwig, looking a fair bit dazed, as well as a nice dent in the drywall.

"Vould you _please_ take zem off?" Germany stressed

"But why?" You asked, dancing over to where he stood, inching yourself up onto your toes so you could almost, _almost_, look him straight on.

"Because eet's embarrazzing..." He mumbled, looking away.

"Aww..." You teased, giving him a chaste kiss that worked in startling him into looking at you, "I think you'd look _cute_."

**-xo-xo-xo-xo-xo-xo-**

_**"Bierleichen" - "Beer Corpses" in German. a term for those who overestimate their drinking ablilities and end up, well, shit-faced.**_

_**"Lederhosen" - "Leather Shorts" well... look it up, if ya don't already know.**_

**LEAVE ME A NICE, SHINY REVIEW, PLEASE?!!**


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